


Toy Chest

by missmishka



Series: Bond/Q/Toys [1]
Category: Skyfall (2012) - Fandom
Genre: Anal Play, Comeplay, D/s elements, First Time, I don't even know where the muses are getting this, I thought about this at work WAY more than I should have, I wrote more of this at work than I should have, M/M, Mentions of Canonical Character Death, More p0rn, No Beta, Not Suitable/Safe For Work, Plot made an attempt at appearing in this one, Sex Toys, Spoilers for movie, angsty opening, cathartic sexing, p0rn won, pushy bottom Bond, so graphic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-16
Updated: 2012-12-16
Packaged: 2017-11-21 06:09:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/594346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/missmishka/pseuds/missmishka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>"Accustom yourself to penetration."</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> DISCLAIMER: The usual warnings, I claim no ownership of these characters, they are simply borrowed with love and adoration from the original creators to have their stories, thoughts or circumstances embellished on a little more than the original format had done. Not for any profit. All errors are my own and any constructive criticism is welcomed to help me polish this up a bit. I still feel a bit 'uncharted territory' with these two. 
> 
> I'm bumping this to the first part of the series for obvious reasons and I'll like be doing more reordering as installments come as the ideas are jumping all over the place in my mental timeline.

The journey back to London is quiet and somber.

James rides in the back of an ambulance with M’s sheet draped body. 

He isn’t certain whether or not he appreciates Tanner’s opting for the ambulance over a hearse for collecting the woman’s body.  The medics had been kept busy fixing Bond’s injuries, but they had had nothing but awkward hands and regretful glances to offer over M’s lifeless form. 

The whole of the hours long drive, James stares at the pristine white sheet covering her with some part of him waiting for her to impatiently shove it aside so that she could sit up and scold him over how the events had played out.

Millicent Mulgrew, as so few other than James knows her name to be, had been a damned good woman.  She had been far too strong and strong-willed to be reduced to a cotton-shrouded gurney in the back of a box truck, but such seemed to be the fate of anyone that James comes to care for.  It doesn’t matter that all of this had been the result of Raoul Silva’s warped feelings for the woman, James still held himself accountable for not having saved her when he had assigned to be her protector.

His thoughts are aimless and fractured, running from topic to topic to absolute blankness to regrets and pains that keep him in a fugue state.  It makes the time pass quickly; being lost in the wasteland of his mind. 

The journey ends at the Royal London Hospital.

Tanner, not one of the medics, opens the back doors of the ambulance.  James steps down to the pavement beside the man and neither speak a word as they reach to pull the gurney out.  The staff offers not comment or protest as doors open to admit the pair wheeling the body down to the morgue.

Once she’s turned over to the medical examiner, James gives the sheet over M’s shoulder a brief brush goodbye then nods to Tanner while passing the man to leave the hospital.  Bond has had his moment with the woman, he leaves her Chief of Staff to have his time alone to come to grips with M’s death.

He goes back to MI6 because it is what he does after a mission.

The compound is hushed and heavy with the loss of their current director.  Conversations cease as James comes into sight; eyes look at him and then dart quickly away as he walks past.  Pity is in more of those averted glances than blame for what has happened.

He goes straight to Q branch and finds his new Quartermaster in the process of logging off and shutting down his personal workstation.  The young man’s movements are slow and methodical, speaking of a routine ingrained in his muscle memory and carried out without conscious thought.  It’s the same kind of blind instinct that has brought Bond to this place at this time.

Q looks around upon sensing James’s presence and a startled stillness overtakes the young man.  James can imagine the thoughts running through Q’s head as the man tries to sort out the right thing to say in the moment and he braces himself for more of the platitudes that he’s been hearing from those who actually try to speak to him.

The kid surprises him, though, and says nothing.  He nods his head in greeting them returns to completing his task in silence.  The computers and screens in this room are never fully shut down as the interns monitor world situations at all times, but Q’s part is done for this day and he turns the spying over to the night staff.

He moves to stand in front of Bond, thrusting his hands in his pockets and looking ridiculously young with that mop of brown hair hanging down over his eyes. 

Those eyes may well be the real reason that he has sought this particular person out.  Q is new to the spy game, but he’s clever with words and adept with his slender hands.  His tongue is agile enough to speak one thing while his body language conveys another; both likely misdirection, but James is quickly learning that those eyes are incapable of subterfuge.  Hazel, most likely, they have the ability to brighten to blues and greens and darken to a nearly brown depending on the severity of emotion the young man feels.

At the moment, they’re a crisp green with indecisiveness. 

“Been sacked, have you?” James asks to break the silence.

“I’m expected to report back in the morning,” Q replies after a moment, “as are you.”

James nods and turns to open the door for Q to move from the room ahead of him. 

“I appear to be without transportation,” he states as they begin moving down the corridors to an exit.

“That happens rather frequently with you,” the corner of Q’s mouth quirks upward as he swerves to take them to the motor pool.  “I trust you’ve nothing out of the ordinary planned for this evening.”

“I wish only to get to my new flat and acquaint myself with the bed,” he answers with enough weariness to draw a quick glance of concern from the Quartermaster.

“Have you a need to visit medical?” Q asks with a glance at Bond’s bandaged cuts.

“Medics did well enough in the field.”

He shrugs away the concern as Q selects a ring of keys from the inventory and logs an unmodified vehicle out of the fleet.  Q accepts the words with a nod then moves to hand the keys over to Bond.  James expects the usual dire warnings for his fate should the inevitable happen to the company car, but the expression in Q’s eyes immediately tips him off that something else is coming when the young man next opens his mouth.

“I’m-”

“Say that you’re sorry and I can guarantee you that your career here is over,” James cuts in abruptly. 

“If I hadn’t been so careless and allowed my ego to get the better of me, Silva-”

“Played us all like his personal piano and would have done so regardless of your actions.  File your reports and put this behind you,” James instructs with a slight bite aimed more at himself than Q.  “If you’re incapable of doing your bloody job without apology or regret then you never had a right to consider a life of espionage.”

“Is that what you’re doing?  Just putting all of this behind you?”

“I mean to bloody well try,” he answers, but they both know the unlikelihood of success.

The events of the past days have struck too close to home for James; in every sense of the word.  Going so far as to destroying his ancestral estate and snuffing out the life of the closest thing that he has had to a mother since age eleven.  Raoul Silva is – _was_ all the things that Bond could so easily have become but for some grace.

That grace is the people that he has had in his life from Kincade and Vesper in his personal life to the Ms and Qs that have passed through Bond’s career.  People that he has trusted and been trusted by, many that he has betrayed and been betrayed by.  For better or worse, the people in his life have shaped him to something more than Raoul Silva ever could have hoped to be.  James can only hope that that something is worthy of continued survival when so many better people have died.

His want, though, for this evening is to forget about death. 

His need is to have a hand of his choosing to caress the scars on his chest and erase the feel of Silva’s fingers on his skin; replace the vulnerability and fear that he had been unable to hide at being tied to that chair at the man’s mercy.

There are countless women that he can seek out for his affirmation, but he has come to Q.  Spots and all, he wants Q.  The young man has a brashness of youth that holds James’s interest in a way that few things have of late.

The Quartermaster’s eyes have gone a sky blue shade; watchful and curious at the prolonged silence and James wants to know what color they will turn with lust and passion.  Such thoughts are far better in his head than the fog he’s been dealing with since M died in his arms.

He follows Q to the man’s office and watches as he shrugs into his coat and collects his personal effects.  There is a fancy looking cell phone the gets tucked into his pocket and one of those stylish satchels that gets slung over the man’s shoulder to hang against his hip, heavy with what appeared to be a laptop and tablet and Q only knew what other technical gadgets.  Q looks at him rather curiously as he moves to lock the space up for the night, but he doesn’t voice the question in his eyes as to why James is still there after having been given the keys to leave.

They fall into step together to the garage for Bond to collect the car that goes with those keys.  Q points the Audi out from the lot and James moves toward the silver model without a word. 

Q does not move with him.

“If that will be all, 007,” Q looks down at the watch on his slim wrist, “I’ve a train to catch.”

“No need to bother with the tube tonight,” James clicks to unlock the car doors with a pointed glance at the passenger side of the vehicle.  “Get in.”

Confusion clouds his eyes, but Q complies.  Trust is somehow easy and instinctual between them; it has been for Bond since he was made to realize the role the young man now has in his work life.  James expects that it will come to them just as naturally in whatever personal life they develop together.

He has no idea what Q’s take on workplace relationships is, but a glimmer in the depths of the other man’s eyes tells that a “no” is not on the agenda for whatever Bond is planning.

They settle into the car quietly and James puts the key in the ignition without buckling up despite the chiding glance he feels from his companion as the buckle clicks into place on the passenger side of the vehicle.  He doesn’t bother to ask directions to Q’s flat as he already knows that from his own research and has no intention of going there this night.  Bond’s new flat is closer and has all that he will need for his desired way to escape reality for a few hours.

Q doesn’t ask questions with his voice, but the tension in his muscles as he watches his passing surroundings speak of his curiosity in what James is doing. 

James offers no explanations as he navigates traffic with an effortless ease unlike the madcap driving style he’s infamous for on missions.  Part of his unwinding after a stressful assignment is getting in a vehicle and just going off somewhere at the posted speed limit with all the normal traffic laws obeyed until the tedium of it resets his mind to work ready. 

He tended to do that driving, though, in the Aston Martin that in now in ruins along with Skyfall lodge. 

The memory is not a pleasant one and he grits his teeth against the swell of thoughts pushing to flood his mind.  His fingers flex on the steering wheel as he glides to a smooth stop at the intersection before turning to find a parking space on the street outside his new apartment building. 

“Not up to your usual standards,” Q muses with an upward glance through the windshield at the refurbished old warehouse.

“A change from the norm is refreshing every now and again,” James remarks cryptically before cutting the ignition and moving to exit the car.

Q follows suits and is soon standing on the sidewalk with his hand holding tight to the strap slung across his chest.

“How exactly is it that this technique actually succeeds in your seducing anyone?” the young man tips his head condescendingly t one side.  “The brooding may work for a weak-willed fangirl, but how does a mature adult find any appeal in such heavy handed tactics?”

The words say one thing, those eyes say quite another.

Bond is not about to allow any argument about this later, though.

“Shall I take you on to your flat, then?” he tucks his insulted hands into his pockets with a careless air.

“Perhaps you could try asking for what you clearly intend to have so that I might know if I want to come up or not.”

“You want a bit of dirty whispered in your ear?”

James’s lip quirks upward at the thought.  He takes a hand out of his pocket to hook under the strap of Q’s satchel to pull the man in closer.

“Do you want details, Q?” he bends in to breathe the words into Q’s ear, relishing the shudder that it causes to course through Q’s body.  “Shall I tell you the places I want to lick on your body?  The skin that I want to bite?  The ways I want to touch you?”

“I rather think,” Q’s voice is husky, but strong as he turns it into James’s ear; “that you had best show me that.”

James considers a smug retort as he pulls away, but words die on his tongue as he sees the want darkening the man’s gaze to something that scorches wherever it moves. 

There’s a slight part to Q’s lips; an obvious invitation to kiss.  He considers that mouth and their surroundings for a moment before putting his thumb to the plush center of Q’s lower lip to stroke with an unspoken promise to do more later.  The tip, just the tip, of Q’s tongue slips out to poke at the pad of James’s thumb before curling pink and wet around the digit to try sucking it into his mouth. 

It is all too easy to imagine his cock in place of his thumb, imagine Q’s mouth opening wider to suck him in and James feels the leap in his trousers as his dick instinctively lurches forward in want of that hot, wet suction.  Q’s soft lips will thin as they stretch around his girth, their pinkness reddening from such use and they’ll shimmer with a mixture of precum and saliva.  James’s hand flexes around the strap it still holds as his body wants to urge the young to his knees right there on the sidewalk to have Q suck him off right then and there.

Q’s lips are closed around James’s thumb, his mouth sucking it while his tongue dances around the digit and through his glasses his eyes tell James that all it would take is a single nudge for the Quartermaster to kneel for his cock. 

James resists the urge to press their bodies together against the company car or the wall of his apartment building.  Perhaps they’ll do that dirty bit of blowjobs and handjobs exchanged in a dark alley some time, but James has had that before with random blokes and he wants different with Q.  He wants more from his Quartermaster.

Q makes a whimpering noise of protest when James withdraws his thumb and pulls away to lead the man into the building to his apartment.  James looks forward to seeing what other noises he can wring from the young man before the night is out.

Q seems to straighten himself out as he follows him into the lift to his third floor flat, going quiet and staring fixedly forward as if his pants aren’t tenting with a rather nice looking erection. 

They remain silent as James moves to unlock his door and wave the man inside.

Q’s eyes are a mix of blue green as they look him over from head to foot before reaching some decision.  He moves into the flat; shrugging off the strap of his satchel and moving to the den to place the bag on a chair.  He removes his coat and drapes it over the back of that same chair before turning to face James.

“Care for a drink?” James bolts the door before moving toward his liquor cabinet.

“Do you rely on alcohol to subdue everyone that you’re about to fuck?” the young man counters, propping himself up in a casual lean with his arms braced behind him on the back of the chair.

There’s an open invitation in that pose, but, again, James does not take it.

“I don’t recall having said anything about fucking you, Q.”

He changes his course from the minibar to the short hall to his new bedroom. 

After a moment, he hears the soft shuffle of Q’s feet following.

He removes his jacket then tugs off the pullover that smells of ash and ruin; letting both items drop to the floor.  The odor reminds him that a shower is well in order before this goes where he wants it to.  He considers asking Q to accompany him to the bathroom, but he can’t quite picture Q following him into the stall to scrub his back. 

Not yet, at least.

“What exactly am I here for, then?” Q frowns from the doorway as Bond sits on the edge of the bed to unlace the work boots he had put on for navigating the marshes.  “You said you wanted to touch me.  To lick and bite.”

“That I do,” James sets his shoes aside and rises to remove his jeans.

“But no fucking?” he hears the frown in Q’s voice but doesn’t look to see it as, wearing only his boxers, he moves to the small chest of drawers set atop a low dresser.

“Oh, Q,” James grins softly as he opens a drawer and looks inside, “there will be fucking.”

There’s movement behind him as he reviews his options and he can sense Q sitting down on the edge of the bed.

“Perhaps you had better try explaining yourself again.”

The weary tone pulls James’s head around to look at the young man.  Q has his dark rimmed glasses in one hand while he scrubs the other over his face in a display of tiredness that is far too old for one so young. 

James is reminded in that moment that Q has gone as long without sleep as James has. It occurs to him that sleep would likely be best for them both, but he doesn’t want to fall into that bed alone and he isn’t the type to just ask someone to sleep with him.  Collapsing after sex is one thing; it’s even to be expected, but there is an intimacy to just sleeping with someone that James has always tried to avoid. 

Q needs this distraction as much as James does to begin putting the fallout of Silva’s actions behind them.

Thinking of the former agent turned villain, James moves to another drawer and pulls out the first dildo that he had ever used.  He can’t just move to rub the tension from Q’s shoulders, but he can turn it from something stressful to something sensual for them both.

“Are you familiar with the training we receive before taking on field assignments?  The ones meant to prepare an agent for what to expect and how to handle the worst case scenarios?”

Q looks up as James moves to the nightstand to pull out lube and condoms before sitting on the edge of the bed beside the young man.

“They used to only give the woman rape training.  Sexist lot that we are, the SIS just didn’t think it necessary for a male operative to worry about violation,” James places his collection of items on the bed between them as Q puts his glasses back on and just observes him.  “Then 003 was taken by that German sadist.  I’m sure you’ve heard the stories.  It’s one of those things that nobody talks about yet everyone somehow still comes to _know_.”

James knows the stories because he had been there to see the broken man brought back to HQ.  Dominic Slater had been tortured in ways that no man liked to think about.  Beyond the grueling standards of electric shock and the gruesome tactics like having his teeth and fingernails yanked away, Herbert Meinriecht had taken pleasure in sodomizing the agent with foreign objects then giving the man over to his guards to run a train on his broken body. 

Before then, James hadn’t even known what a phrase like ‘run a train’ meant.  No matter how lengthy and debauched his sexual history may seem, he’s always kept it to one partner at one time; passing on threesomes and orgies and feeling truly repulsed at the idea of gangbangs.  Sex is something to be enjoyed and lavished in; not something to be used as punishment or degradation.

Slater never recovered from what was done to him, though his body survived it.  The government would never know the full extent of the information that he divulged under the duress.  After he had taken his own life just weeks out of the hospital, the MI6 pulled all field agents in for a new training course in hopes of preventing such a sordid affair in the future.

The course itself hadn’t consisted of much and the instructional video assembled for them to watch had been awkward as hell, but at the conclusion of the short class they had been given a homework assignment.  Each man had been given a box as they left for the day.  In that box; at least in James’s, there had been a dildo, lube and a note with the brief instruction to, “Accustom yourself to penetration.”

“They gave us these and somehow thought that us fucking ourselves with a bit of rubber would in some way prepare us should the worst happen and we be taken by someone that enjoyed raping their captives.  Are these issued by Q Branch?” James questions idly as he picks up the toy that he had been given those years ago. 

“It seems rather basic to me,” Q speaks for the first time in several minutes.  “We don’t do basic.  Now if it,” he takes the dildo from James, “does any tricks like shoots out darts or conceals a knife…”

“It’s just a dildo,” James takes the item back with a sense of alarm at the thought now of what Q might do with the toy. 

“Oh,” Q blinks.  “Oh. … And you’ve…used it?”

“Often,” James gives the flesh-toned bit of rubber a fond stroke before returning it to the bedding.  “I’ve moved on to bigger and better,” he gives a nod towards the chest of drawers, “but this was the first.”

James rises from the bed with a stretch to draw Q’s attention to flex and roll of his muscles.

“Have a look,” he invites, “see if anything strikes your fancy while I get this grit off me.”

“Strikes my fancy for what, Bond?” Q gives his head a slow shake to emphasize his confusion.  “I still don’t understand what you’ve brought me here for.”

“I brought you here to fuck _me.”_

James bends down to cover the sudden gape of Q’s mouth as the young man’s jaw drops at the words.  For a moment, the surprise seems to have frozen his tongue as his lips remain slack against James’s, but Bond still presses in to get a feel and taste for his Quartermaster’s mouth.  James detects a trace of the honey that Q sometimes uses in his tea and a sound rumbles deep in his chest as he seeks out more of the sweetness. 

Q’s head bends back under the force of the kiss and his lips close around the thrust of James’s tongue.  He puts his hands to James’s waist and his fingers jump away from the bare flesh as if burnt before he flattens his palms to James’s side as his tongue finally curls around Bond’s.   

The young man’s hands skim up James’s back to grab at his shoulders from behind and it would be all too easy to forget showering to tumble the boy back to the bed for a proper fucking. 

He can imagine the clutch of those lanky limbs as Q opens up his body as eagerly as he’s giving his mouth to James.  He can also imagine that body laid out on his bed, flushed with arousal and slick with sweat as James spreads him wide with one of his toys. 

He wonders if anyone has ever probed the boy with a dildo; ever filled him up with a plug and left it to vibrate until Q arched and gasped and broke apart from the stimulation. 

James wants to do it.

James wants to be the first to do it.

_The only, even._

That thought is just dangerous enough that even in his unsettled mental state, James knows that he needs to back away from the moment. 

He lifts his mouth and opens his eyes to stare for a moment at the expression on Q’s face before the young man’s lashes flutter apart to reveal eyes shimmering with a electric blue lust that goes straight to Bond’s cock.  He smoothes his thumb over the reddened pout of Q’s lower lip, collecting the slick there from their combined saliva. 

“You may want to get naked for this,” he murmurs before putting his thumb into his mouth and turning away to go in for his shower.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The name given to M here has no basis in any Bond canon as we only know that James knows her name and it is hinted in previous films that her real name begins with an M so I almost literally just picked it at random. She does seem rather like a Millie, though, didn't she?


	2. Chapter 2

Q stares at the space that has just been vacated by James Bond and he wonders if the agent had ever really been there. 

He wonders if any of this is actually happening and, if it is, he wonders why and how it’s happening.  And he also wonders _what_ exactly is happening.

The sound of the shower coming on tells him that he’s not alone and confirms Bond’s intent to shower before whatever he has planned.

_“I brought you here to fuck me.”_

The memory of the words is like a physical caress, tickling the back of his brain and spreading a delicious tingle down his spine to pulse in his groin until he can’t help but to press the heel of his palm against the twitching length of his cock. 

It’s a scene out of a fantasy, but Q hasn’t given a more than a passing thought of this kind to the likes of James Bond; one could not come into contact with the man without imagining sex with him. 

The man is a lothario, a known Casanova and an almost literal lady-killer.  007’s reputation for seduction as a tool and weapon for Her Majesty’s Secret Intelligence Service is legendary.  The SIS had even tried to train others in the man’s methods, but none had had the innate skill that Bond has. 

Q has never come across any reports of the man turning such skill on the male of the species.  He most certainly would have caught a tidbit like that in the reports that he had scoured over in bringing himself up to speed on Bond’s skill and expertise as an operative. 

This scene made no sense for Q to have a part in yet he appears to have a starring role.  Something isn’t computing properly but he can’t figure out the syntax that’s missing to make the algorithm work.

Rather distractedly, he notices a smear on his left lens and he takes off his glasses to wipe at them with the hem of his cardigan.  The task draws his focus downward and his gaze locks on the blurry shape of the toy on the bed beside him.

_“Accustom yourself to penetration.”_

He can imagine such an instruction given to field agents, but he cannot imagine James Bond actually _obeying_ or complying with it.

Sounds of a shower in progress continue to filter in from the bathroom where James had not even bothered to shut himself in and Q finally stirs to some action to pick the dildo up for a closer look.  He’s sure that they chose it for realism; it was a flesh toned bit of rubber with a flared tip and veined shaft, looking about the ‘average’ size of five inches in length less than two inches in girth. 

His fingers curl around the artificial penis and begin an instinctive stroking motion as he imagines the toy being worked into Bond’s ass. 

Would 007 have just lain back and thought of England as he spread his legs and shoved the dildo inside himself or would he have drawn it out to learn the pleasure of penetration?  Would he have bent himself over and worked it in that way to get a feel for the angle were someone to get the drop on him and put him in a submissive pose for the taking? 

The images that flood his brain make his other hand curl around the length of his cock with the confines of his pants.

His eyes go to the wooden chest from which James had withdrawn the toy. 

A voice in the back of his mind urges him to his feet to investigate the box further; reminds him that James had told him to have a look.

The invitation is too tempting to reject.

Sex toys have never been a thing for Q and he peers into the top drawer with more curiosity than comprehension.  Everything has a phallic shape that indicated a design for insertion.  The materials ranged from glass and metal to plastic and more kinds of rubber than Q could immediately catalog.  Sizes varied from short to long, slim to frightfully thick and at least two items in the drawer made Q’s ass clench in instinctive fear and rejection of such an object ever seeking entrance into his body.  He knew of fisting and had seen a video online to demonstrate how a man’s ass could open to take a rather substantial bulk up in it, but Q has no desire to push his own limits in such a manner. 

His fingers touch the air over several of the dildos, but it seems somehow invasive to actually touch them even with James’s permission to have a look.

He closes that drawer and opens the second of the three in the small chest.

The dildos in this drawer are all attached to something; remote controls or intricate straps that bring a sharpness to the focus of Q’s gaze. 

One does not use a strap-on penis to pleasure themselves; one has a lover don a strap-on in order to fuck their ass. 

Q finds his hands shoving that drawer closed rather quickly as something like jealousy twists through his guts.  He knows that in just the past few days Bond has slept with Severine and Eve; he knows that in the man’s lifetime Bond has slept with more people than Q has even thought of having sex with to date, but seeing evidence of such escapades is distasteful. 

If James has used the dildos in the first drawer then it went without saying that he has been on the receiving end of those harnessed devices worn by some beautiful woman who had been given the pleasure of fucking and being fucked by James Bond. 

Q tries not to resent the lucky bitches who have been into this chest before him.

He fails in the effort.

He forces himself to move on to the third drawer before he gives in to emptying the contents of the second drawer into the rubbish bin. 

The devices in the bottom drawer are squatter than the previous contents and their shape can only mean one use; plugs.  Glass, metal, plastic and rubber again all in shapes meant to be inserted into the ass and left there. 

A few strands of beads are twisted through the collection and Q shivers at the thought of sliding those glass balls into James’s tight hole then tugging them back out while Bond moaned like a wounded animal.

_“I brought you here to fuck me.”_

The words are beginning to loop through his brain like a record with the needle stuck in a single groove and he allows himself to imagine that it might actually happen. 

He wonders if James meant only the toys or if Q is going to actually slide his cock into James’s ass. 

_That ass._

He’s looked at Bond’s body and admired the way his strong shoulders Vs down to slim hips.  He’s stare more than a little at the swell of muscle on the man’s torso and thighs. 

More than all of that, though, he has had the impurest of thoughts about Bond’s ass.  He’s seen the firm curve of flesh flexing as the man walked or ran.  He’s seen it under the soft drape of cotton sweats, peeking out from under the hem of his perfectly tailored suit jacket and all but drooled over the rare glimpse of it in tight worn denim that clung to that ass in a way that made Q’s hands envious. 

He’s thought of splitting the fleshy cheeks of that ass apart of eating it like a peach, but he never would have been so brazen in his unbidden fantasies to imagine penetrating 007 with more than a tongue or finger during foreplay. 

_If he had had any idea that James liked having more phallic objects shoved in his ass…_

Q never would have been able to get through their first meeting with any coherence let alone been of any use to James against Silva.  He’d likely have just dropped to his knees and begged to get the man naked and 007’s ego did not – _does not_ – need that additional boost.

Q honestly doesn’t know how he’ll function with the knowledge now as it is. 

He knows James is rather expert at shelving his feelings and dalliances, but Q’s never knowingly gone into a bed knowing that it’ll only be the one night.  For him to choose a co-worker for his post-adrenaline fling is a bad idea and for that co-worker to be 007 is the height of stupidity. 

Enough has happened already that he knows the way James’s silk boxers glide over his ass and tent with his erection, but he can file that away and continue working with some degree of professionalism around the man.  Q seriously doubts that he’ll be able to see James completely naked and actually touch that man’s flesh then go about their business at the office with any degree of detachment. 

He needs to get out of here now before…hell, he just needs to get out.

"I wouldn't have taken you for a runner." 

Q stops dead halfway out of the room at the drawling sound of Bond's voice from behind him. He turns to confirm that the man has finished his shower while Q was lost in thought.

James is leaning against the doorjamb, one towel wrapped around his waist while he idly dries his hair with another. His eyes are more curious than anything and Q does not see an erection tenting the terry covering the man's crotch.

"It would seem that I am no longer needed," he nods pointedly at the apparent loss of interest on the other man's part.

James tsks at him.

 _Honestly._ ** _Tsks_**.

"Do you think me so stupid as to pull myself off in the shower when I have you waiting to do me proper out here?”

 _“Stupid” isn’t really the word, but selfish would likely fit,_ Q thinks while waiting for a snappy comeback to grace his tongue.

James gives his torso one last scrub with the towel before tossing it back into the bathroom then he calmly unwinds the cloth around his waist to throw that towel aside.

Any witty retorts vanish as Q swallows his tongue.

Bond’s flesh has a clean, healthy glow about it, faintly flushed from an apparently hot shower and the brisk toweling to dry himself.  Scars and all, his body would make any artist want to draw or sculpt him.  Q wants to map every inch of flesh with his fingers and tongue; starting with the cock that may have flagged a little during the break but obviously hadn’t been jerked to release in the shower.

“If you’re running,” James prowls closer, “now would be the time.”

Q stands his ground as he seems unable to do anything more than stand and gape; the movement of James’s half-hard cock is truly hypnotic as it sways between those muscled thighs.

“If you’re staying,” he comes to a stop mere inches from Q; “get on your knees.”

Q licks his lips and swallows to try relieving the sudden dryness of his mouth.

“This is a terrible idea,” Q states.

“My best ideas always appear that way at first,” Bond’s lip quirks and his eyes twinkle as he lifts a hand to touch Q’s moistened lip.  “You should have gotten naked.”

He whispers the words against Q’s mouth before biting and licking his way inside. 

Bond’s body heat seeps through the layers of Q’s clothing and he suddenly feels overwhelmingly hot.  He wants to tear the clothes off and rut against James’s nudity until they’re a such a mess that the agent needs to go right back to his shower.  Before he can do more than think of such fleshly delights, though, James pulls back.

“Decide now; door,” they both look briefly toward the entrance to the bedroom, “or floor?”

Q’s body knows even if his mind is lagging.  His knees bend and he eases down to kneel between James’s slightly parted legs. 

When his tongue flashes out again to moisten his dry lips he skims over James’s penis and detects traces of the soap that the man has just bathed with.  The flesh jolts at the contact as Q withdraws his tongue and washes it around inside his own mouth to get rid of the sudsy taste.  Beneath the soap, though, is the salt of man and Q finds himself immediately opening up to seek out more of that flavor. 

James’s hands, one then the other, slide into Q’s hair and knot in the strands to urge him onward.  The slack flesh from the wilted erection makes it soft and pliable in Q’s mouth; plush like velvet.  It hardens quickly, though, refilling with a rush of blood as Q begins to suck. 

“Moment I met you,” James begins calmly, “I knew I’d have to have your smart mouth wrapped around my cock.”

Q shudders and puts a hand to the throbbing ache of his own cock; both from the idea of James having had such a thought at that time and from the sudden touch of James’s fingers over the stretched pucker of Q’s lips around the man’s hardening shaft.

Broad fingers spread over his right cheek as James’s palm cradles Q’s jaw and a moan escapes him at the caress.  James responds to the sound by easing the grip of his other hand to stroke through and over Q’s hair.  The gesture is petting, plain and simple, and it makes Q shake until he anchors himself by curling a hand around the bulge of James’s calf.

“Like that, do you?”

The murmur of James’s voice barely filters through the growing haze in Q’s head as the man strokes callused fingers over his face, neck and shoulders; he tickles at Q’s ears and ruffles his hair until Q finds himself moving closer to grind against the same leg that his hand is clinging to. 

“Enough.”

James goes from touching to pushing until Q sinks back on his heels to pant for breathes that he hadn’t taken in favor of sucking the man’s cock.  He looks up at the man through unfocused eyes as his tongue chases after an unformed protest that he can’t seem to speak.

“You’re not coming in your trousers any more than I’m wasting myself in a shower,” he moves away.

Q blinks away the fog that seems to be surrounding him and stares after the man.

“What do you want me to do?”

James casts a glance back over his shoulder and something seems to smolder in his gaze as he takes in the rumpled sight Q surely makes on his knees there on the floor.  He takes his time in answering, sitting down on the edge of his bed and picking up the dildo first.

“I want you to come here and fuck me open with this,” he leans back on his elbows and spreads his legs open while idly bounding the rubber toy against his thigh.  “Then I want to feel a real cock in my arse; _your_ cock in my arse.”

 _Why_ , is the question that itches to be asked, but Q ignores his pragmatic urges and gives in to his primal urges. 

The splay of Bond’s thighs calls to him and Q pushes to his feet to take the bait.  He ignores the part of himself that tells him to stay on the floor and crawl across the distance to the man, not wanting James to know that he could have that kind of power if Q ever wants to maintain any illusion of superiority at work.  He also ignores the want to drop back to his knees between those widespread legs so that he can suck James’s cock back into his mouth or so he can angle the man’s hips upward to bury his tongue in that arse.

Reminding himself that he is apparently here to fuck the man, Q toes off his loafers then climbs up on the bed to straddle James’s lap as the man sets the dildo aside.  He grips James’s shoulders; taking a moment to stroke his thumbs over the taut flesh before he applies pressure to urge the man to lie back upon the mattress. 007 falls back under the pushing with a complacence that might would scare Q if not for the heat in those blue eyes.  

The _want_ in that gaze is rather daunting when Q is so used to being fucked rather than fucking, but the desire in James’s eyes fuels a fire in Q.  A fire that Q imagines that he can only put out by shoving his way deep and hard into Bond’s arse; a curiosity that will burn in him until he knows just how tight that ass is and how hard his hole will squeeze around Q’s cock when James comes. 

Q does a slow grind against James’s cock as he comes down over the man, mindful of the abrasive texture of his clothing against James’s bare skin.

_All that bare skin._

Q puts his mouth to James’s ear and flicks his tongue around the lobe.  Bond’s ears are one of his least attractive features and Q is oddly fascinated by them; their smallish size for his block head and the way they stick out with just a bit of a point to the tips.  Q nips at that point as James takes hold of his hips and grinds up into Q’s weight.

He puts his hands to James’s shoulders and trails his fingers over the man’s chest; one of Bond’s _most_ attractive features. 

Q leans back to watch as he strokes over the scarring from Eve’s bullet; biting back a flash of heated emotion at her for having put the injury there – _some orders needed to be damned,_ even Q knows this - and at Silva for having caressed the scar before Q had had the opportunity.  Refusing to name the latter feeling as jealousy he bends to kiss the puckered flesh; laving the flat of his tongue over it when James arches beneath him to press into the attention. 

He moves on to other scars left by edged weapons and shrapnel as well as bullets from other guns.  He knows the medical charts and field reports for each injury and had a map of them in his brain.  His tongue and fingers now learn that map; charting the terrain of flesh to commit the territory to his muscle memory even if he’s unlikely to have a future use for the knowledge.

As Q’s exploration moves further down James shifts his body further up the mattress to avoid any disruptive tumbles off the foot of the bed.  Faint lines mar James thighs, barely visible and little more than ridges under the pads of Q’s fingertips.  Remnants of the torture that the agent had endured the last time that he’d been bound to a chair as Le Chiffre's bullwhip lashed Bond’s skin to shreds.

And James had not given the password, he had, by all accounts laughed himself to unconsciousness in the face of such tactics.  Such stories were part of the legend that 007 has become in the MI6 and Q is not alone in his admiration of that aspect of Bond’s character. 

It is with a very different appreciation, though, that Q slides between those thighs and mouths the lines on James’s right leg while his hand massages the scarred tissue on the man’s left leg.  Bond spreads himself further and bucks his hips upward, but Q is not distracted by the bob of the man’s cock; not _overly_ distracted.  He does allow himself to lap at the bead of moisture at the angry red tip of that dick as he switches his attention from James’s right thigh to the left.

He manages a single swipe of his tongue over the old welts before a smack to the back of his head causes him to pull back.

“Fuck me.”

Some part of Q is absurdly amused by the sight of the rubber penis waving around in James’s hand. 

Another part of Q is rightfully insulted by the fact that Bond _has just **hit him** with a dildo_.

Both parts are quashed, though, by the overwhelming clamor of his body to do just as James has instructed and slam himself into the man’s hole without wasting any time with toys.

“Get it slick.”

Q blinks as James unexpectedly taps his lips with the dildo.  He opens his mouth to protest that order, thinking it absurd and possibly degrading, but he can’t express any indignation as James takes immediate advantage and pushes the tip of the artificial penis into the opening. 

Q’s lips close instinctively around the thick rubber even as his tongue pushes to try forcing the foreign object out. 

He tastes a trace of soap on the toy, the same he’s tasted on James’s flesh and his intent changes as he imagines James’s hands washing the dildo before and after use.  Aside from the soap the thing has none of the flavor one expects when sucking cock; it’s tasteless in a way that can only be defined as ‘rubbery.’  His tongue feels the smooth head of the fake cock and the simulated veins cording the shaft and the texture is surprisingly realistic. 

He finds himself leaning forward as James nudges upward and the entire length of the toy slides into his throat until he gags on it, saliva flowing to coat the dildo.

“That’s it,” James coos.

James’s free hand strokes over Q’s hair in reward and encouragement as James starts to pull the toy out only to shove it back in until he’s fucking Q’s face with the fake cock while James’s real one remains neglected just inches away.  Something about that seems quite wrong to Q so he slides a hand up to wrap around James’s dick to stroke in a faltering version of the motion of the dildo in his mouth.  He straddles one of James’s leg and finds himself humping against the limb like a damned puppy, his movements uncoordinated and sloppy as he tries to make sense of the moment. 

The extra cock, even a fake one, makes it feel all the more illicit, like a threesome; a dick in his mouth, one in his hand and a hard surface to grind his own erection against.

He’ll never admit to it aloud, but damned if he isn’t getting into it as he slurps over the dildo while stroking James’s very hot, very real cock.

He’s just finding a rhythm for it all when James pulls the dildo from his mouth and shifts to dislodge Q’s hand from his cock. 

“Put it in me,” James says with a gruff quality to his voice that strokes over Q’s auditory senses like a physical caress.

The slick rubber cock is thrust into Q’s hand to replace the real thing.  Again, instinct curls his fingers until Q gets a hold on the base of the toy but he’s momentarily at a loss for what to do next as his mouth continues to hang open at the sudden loss of something to suck on.

“Knew you’d be a hungry bit,” James puts his fore and middle fingers under Q’s chin to urge his mouth closed while James swipes a thumb over the wet mess of Q’s lower lip. 

He shifts beneath Q, removing his leg from between Q’s and leaving him with nothing to grind against as James draws his legs up to open himself up.

No instruction is needed as Q finally gives in to his desire to fuck that arse with his tongue.  He dives in, putting the dildo aside without a thought as he puts a hand to each of James’s cheeks and spreads them further apart. 

The man’s hole is closed despite the pull of the flesh surrounding it and Q nearly whimpers at the thought of how tight the channel is apt to be once he works it open. He wriggles his thumbs in closer to the center, rubbing over the dark blonde hairs around the opening as he presses in to lick over the puckered flesh.  His glasses bump against James’s thigh, knocking askew and he lifts a hand to take them off, but a firm hand on his wrist stops that.

“Leave them.”

His eyes dart up to meet James’s through the dislodged lenses and he immediately gives up the idea of taking them off in favor of playing into whatever fantasy Bond is playing out with this encounter.  He nudges the earpiece to adjust the frames on his face then he deliberately licks at the tip of James’s cock as it nudges against his cheek.

Through the smear of something now on his left lens Q watches James’s pupils flare as his gaze focuses on the flick of tongue over his flesh.  A tremor of tension goes through the man as Q watches, his jaw flexing from an obvious grit of his teeth while his fingers twitch then curl into a fist before he seems to force them to relax again.

Q decides that he wants the glasses to remain as well as they would insure that he’s able to _see_ each and every tell that he’s getting closer and closer to making James Bond lose control.

He tongues a path down the length of James’s dick, over his bollocks past his perineum and back to his arsehole. 

James digs his heels into the mattress and bucks upward at the slick glide over his pucker.  When Q hardens his tongue to push for entrance, James curls his hands around his thighs and pulls to hold them as far apart as possible.

“Put _it_ **_in_** me,” he repeats as Q wriggles his way past the restriction of the sphincter to lick into James’s arse.

The tone allows for no argument or delay and Q reluctantly puts aside thoughts of trying to rim James to climax.  He pulls back to locate the dildo on the bedding and he finds it nestled rather fortuitously with the bottle of lube.

He shifts to kneel between James’s legs while he picks the items up.  An anticipatory tension seems to grip James at the clicking noise the bottle makes as he uncaps the lube to dispense slick onto his waiting fingers.  Q looks up from his taste to find James staring fixedly at his hands.  His nostrils flare with the deep, measured breaths that he’s taking and Q watches this in fascination as he allows the lubricant to warm in his hand before he reaches out to smear the gel over James’s arsehole.

James jolts at the contact then shudders at the probe of fingers to try loosening him up for the penetration of the toy.  He makes an impatient sound that would rival the growl of a feral animal and Q crosses off the notion of fingerfucking the man to orgasm.

James wants the dildo in him and he wants it in him ten minutes ago, it would appear.

Q refuses to forgo all preparation and he withdraws his fingers to dispense more lubricant before recapping the bottle and setting it aside before he slicks up the rubber cock.

James tenses at the press of the toy against his hole and Q strokes his free hand over the man’s flank in a soothing motion.  James’s body shudders with a deep inhalation and as he holds it in his arse opens up to allow the dildo to just glide in. 

Q watches with a detached kind of wonder as the flesh-toned shaft sinks into that arse.  All too soon his knuckles bump against James’s arse and he’s done as deep as the toy can go.  He stops to allow James to adjust to the feel while Q himself adjusts his mind to the sight of Bond’s hole stretching around the phallic shaped object.  He draws his hand back without conscious thought just to see how the pucker clings to the cock as it tries to withdraw. 

James arches and chokes out a sound that is both pleasure and protest.  His head presses back against the pillows, the flush of arousal spreads from his ears to his nipples and Q can see the white of his knuckles as his fingers grip his thighs even harder.  He’ll have the bruises of his own hands there for days and something about the thought of that causes Q to twitch and shove the dildo back in.

He pulls back then punches forward with the occasional twist and turn of the toy to experiment with the angles that evoke the best reactions from James.  He finds himself leaning forward as he fucks the toy in, his whole body moving with the motion of his hand as if it were really his own cock screwing that hole loose. 

His entire focus is on that point of entry, his hand gripping the fake cock as it pushes and pulls at the taut skin of James’s rim.  He swears he can almost feel the grip of that hole around his cock as he watches; his mind playing tricks on him from what he’s watching with such intent.

Then he does a roll with his fingers and angles the toy upward on an inward thrust and a sound escapes James that snaps Q away from his fixation just in time to watch the lurch of James’s cock as the man comes without anything touching his dick. 

Q’s hand jerks to a stop as he watches the buck of the man’s body and the twitch of his muscles as the orgasm wrings spurt after spurt of come from his balls. 

He wants to bend and suck so badly that his own body twitches in aching desire.  He wants to tear open his pants and fuck his own fist; to take away the dildo and shove into James’s ass long enough to fill it with come.

“Don’t,” James gasps out, writhing like a caught fish in the throes of his climax, “stop.  Give it to me.”

Q does just that without thought, restoring his grip on the base of the fake penis and driving it deep into James’s arse to hold it there through the shudders that wrack the man’s body.  He looks at the streaks of fluid on James’s abdomen, thinner and clearer than Q’s come; likely because James gets off with far more regularity than Q does. 

When the man’s erection goes soft and his shaking stops rattling the bed frame, Q takes a moment to carefully remove the toy from James’s arse.  The second the head slips out and James’s hole tries to close back up, Q tosses the dildo aside and starts tearing at the fastenings of his pants. 

His eyes focus on the slight gape in the opening as the stretched muscle can’t seem to squeeze fully closed and he wants to drive his cock into the loosened opening so badly that he can taste it.

He gives himself seconds, though, until he comes all over himself and he’s not going to have that kind of memory staying with him for the rest of his life.  When he fucks James, which he hopes to do after a miraculously quick recovery from his impending orgasm, Q wants to own that arse and screw into it for hours until James is nothing more than a boneless pile of flesh on the bed begging for it to end.

His hands push at the waist of his pants and underwear the second he’s lowered the zip enough to loosen the trousers.  He puts his hand around his cock and edges closer until he’s practically in James’s lap then he proceeds to jack himself as quickly as he can.  He becomes aware of a second hand on his dick and just knowing that James is stroking his cock is enough to finish Q off. 

He aims for the same come streaked flesh of James’s abdomen then clenches his eyes shut as his mouth falls open on a silent scream the moment climax hits him.  Behind his eyelids he sees a lightshow to rival any grand scale fireworks display and he remembers the sight of the dildo fucking James and his mind replaces the toy with his own flesh and Q is coming so hard that it hurts.  His balls draw up tight, his toes clench, his muscles lock down and his head drops forward as he tries to curl in on himself against the convulsions that run through him from top to bottom then bottom to top until he’s spent.

He’s utterly wasted and falling forward to collapse against James’s naked body and he wants to feel his skin against Bond’s but he hadn’t listened to James’s advice to get naked for this and now he feels his shirttails getting wet as the cotton Oxford begins to absorb the come pooling between them on James’s stomach.

The wetness sinks in in more ways than one and Q’s eyes open as he shifts to James’s side with a faint groan from the exertion.  His glasses are steamed and/or streaked and the world is almost as blurry with them than it is without them, but he still corrects them out of habit to sit properly on his face as he blinks to focus on James’s midsection. 

He swallows at the sight of his thicker, whiter ejaculate laced over James’s come on the man’s skin and a shudder goes through him at the pretty picture.  His hand moves without his bidding it to, moving to smear the cooling semen over and into James’s flesh. 

Q wants to lick it.

He looks at the sheen of moisture spreading from James’s groin to his shoulders from the stroking of Q’s hands and he wants to follow behind his own fingers and slurp up the mess that they’re making.  He is seeing what their comes looks like when it mixes, but Q wants to the point of _needs_ to know what it **_tastes_** like.

Years of safe sex lectures and practice war in the depths of his mind with the knowledge that he’s full access to all of Bond’s medical records and knows full well that they’re both clean of any diseases. 

The mental debate ends with James taking hold of Q’s restless hand and lifting it to his mouth.

James licks a swathe through the sticky mess coating Q’s palm and Q’s mouth drops open at the sight and sensation of the movement.  A hum of appreciation escapes the man as he pulls his tongue back and closes his mouth to seemingly savor the taste.

When he turns the hand in Q’s direction and urges two fingers past his own slack lips Q gets to experience the reality of what _they_ taste like and his body spasms with an aftershock that’s almost as intense as the orgasm that’s melted his brain.  


	3. Chapter 3

James watches as Q’s lips instinctively close around his own fingers as he begins to suck the flesh clean without James having to tell him what to do.

The boy is even more responsive than James could have hoped.

Whatever his doubts about the practicality and sensibilities of they’re doing here, Q has gone with James for every step that matters.  There’d been a snag with the shower delay, but James blames himself for that one and his not having pushed Q into the bathroom with him to keep the young man focused on sex.

 _This_ never would have happened, though, if they’d have shared a shower.  James knows that _that_ course of action would have led to him pushing Q against the tiled wall and fucking the young man while the hot water turned cold on their writhing bodies. 

While shower sex would have been a nice release and pleasant distraction, it wouldn’t have given him what he’d needed. 

He watches Q’s eyes lose focus as the boy savors the taste of _them_ on his fingers.  James rolls his tongue around in his own mouth, chasing the traces of the come that he’d licked from Q’s palm.

He’d known Q would be a dirty bird; the posh, uptight ones at the office were always wild in the sack.  Add in those thick rimmed glasses and Q was the male version of a naughty librarian waiting to bend you over for manhandling a book.  Not to mention his lean build, boyish looks and those ties that likely date back to his school days; all of which leads to the obvious thoughts of a randy schoolboy needing the firm hand of the headmaster to …

James’s cock twitches at the mental pictures then his gaze catches on the sight of Q’s mouth opening to suck in a third finger and James has a feeling that his body will be breaking records for recovery for his post-forty years.

He lets go of Q’s wrist as it’s obvious that the boy no longer needs any encouragement to lick his hand clean.  The young man falls back on the bed with hardly any urging from James, but he looks up in question as he settles against the pillows.

James takes in the sight of him.  From his cockeyed glasses with their smeared lenses, his hopelessly mussed hair, the stretch of his reddened lips around his three middle fingers, his rumpled shirt and tie down to the strip of hip and groin revealed by the bottoms that he’d pushed out of the way just so he could jack himself off onto James’s stomach.  

He’s made a serious tactical error here in thinking that he could simply use the boy to exorcise a demon and then go about business as usual. 

“How soon?” he hears the gravel in his own voice and almost smiles at the way the tone makes Q pause to stare with a glaze slipping over his eyes.

“How soon can you go again?” James clarifies when the young man offers no response to the first question aside from staring.

There’s a blink then those eyes - bright blue from what little he can see around Q’s still blown pupils – those eyes move to James’s mouth to watch it form the words.  After a moment of silence on both their parts, Q blinks again and some of the fog clears as green begins to leak into his irises while his pupils begin to constrict and focus.  His fingers pop free of his mouth and move to adjust his glasses to sit properly across the bridge of his nose.

“You want..” he begins with uncharacteristic doubt.

“You didn’t think you’d get off that easy, did you?” he quips and bends to nip at Q’s neck. “I want.”

A full body shudder vibrates the man beneath him as James _breathes_ those two little words in to Q’s ear.

“Q Branch prides itself on responding with speed and efficiency to any needs an agent may have,” Q responds with a flare of his usual wit.

He rolls his hips upward in accompaniment of the statement for the hardening length of his cock to brush against the still soft dangle of James’s bits. 

“If I ever hear tell of you _responding_ in this fashion to _any_ needs of another agent there will be consequences.”

They both go still at the words; each of them shocked by the possessive tone for their own reasons.  James doesn’t try to backpedal, though, or change the tone as he stares down into Q’s eyes. The idea of another double-O looking at the Quartermaster from this particular angle before James has finished with the young man stirs something decidedly caveman in him. 

In those ancient times, he would likely have clubbed the boy and dragged him back to his cave for a proper shagging, but James already has Q in his bed and they’ve both just gotten their rocks off in a rather memorable fashion for a first go ‘round so he rather hopes they can forgo the need for a clubbing.

“We actually have strict guidelines against this sort of thing,” Q states after a lengthy stare.  “We’ve all a specific instruction to beware of _you_ and not give in to your peculiar brand of ... charm.  Yet another rule I’ve already broken for you.  I somehow doubt that Mallory will be supportive of this endeavor and I’m not about to further jeopardize my career by trying this with another co-worker.”

There’s a reassurance somewhere in that chiding tone and James focuses on the implication that Q wouldn’t do _this_ with anyone else. 

“And what, pray tell,” James interjects some humor into the moment, “are these strict guidelines?”

“We’re to understand that you talk to and smile at virtually everyone so such gestures are never to be mistaken as flirtation,” Q smirks, warming to his topic.  “’Despite it having been well before his time, Bond is a relic from days when women were hardly ever more than secretaries and prostitutes and it was perfectly acceptable for a man to give a pat or pinch to the buttocks regardless of the profession a woman had.  He’d likely be able to cease breathing before he’d be able to stop flirting, so whatever you do, don’t mistake him for sincere.  It is advisable to avoid any and all contact, visual and/or physical, with the man’s bare flesh and do try not to remove any of your own clothing in his presence as it’s like waving a red flag at an enraged bull.  Above all else, for God’s sake, do _not_ fall in love with him.  You’ll find that our medical insurance no longer covers the therapy for such a foolish endeavor.’”

James takes all of that in with a few blinks of his own; feeling an odd rush of humor, sentiment and sadness as he can easily imagine Millie personally delivering that speech to classes full of fresh-faced newbies. 

“Mum must have been very cross with me on that day,” his lip quirks over the words, but he’s sure that the ghosts are visible in his eyes.

“That directive actually came from her predecessor,” Q grins up at him.  “Something to do with a young woman from the secretarial pool long before you’d gotten your license to kill status.”

“Hmm,” he frowns thoughtfully for a moment, trying to remember the girl and coming up with only memories of the last director.  “I really should kill him.  Again.”

The grin grows on Q’s lips, something bright and shining; youthful and free.  James’s eyelids droop as he focuses on that mouth and leans down to capture that smile to see if he can draw some measure of that levity into himself. 

Q’s lips part easily and his tongue is quick to twine with James’s.  The slim body beneath him arches upward to rub against him and James shivers at the abrasive caress of clothing against his skin.  Without breaking away from the kiss, James eases up enough to get his hands between them to tug at the knot of Q’s tie to loosen the noose.

When their lungs demand breath, he leans up further to carefully remove Q’s glasses and finally set them aside.  Q’s eyes flare wide at the change in his vision before he squints slightly to bring James back into focus.  James finds something so endearing about that that he ducks his head to nuzzle against Q’s neck before he says or thinks something more than he should.

He bites at the bobbing Adam’s apple in Q’s throat as his hands slowly unbutton the young man’s shirt.  When he gets down to the added layer of the cardigan with its two bigger buttons at Q’s waist, James lifts his head to smirk down at the boy.

“These really are quite dated, you know,” he observes as he unfastens the buttons and tugs at the loosened edges of the knitted covering.

“Sod off,” Q glares up at him, the sweaters apparently a sore subject.  “They’re warm.”

“That the reason, then?” James shifts to straddle Q and sit upright.  “I’m warm,” he muses as he tugs at the cardigan until Q cooperates and shrugs it off.  “Do you want to wear me?”

James knows that his lines are often cheesier than macaroni, but those are always the ones with the best effect.

Q blinks at the line and his lips pucker with some response forming on his tongue, but then he blinks again as the come-on sinks in and James can see his mind changing over whatever he would have said.  Q pushes himself up to curl his arms around James’s waist and stroke his hands over James’s back.

“You’re very hot, actually,” he rubs his cheek over James’s peck before turning his lips to kiss at the scar tissue dangerous close to James’s heart.  “I’d burn to a cinder if I tried to keep you.”

There’s a softness of regret in the quietly spoken words and that just won’t do.

James threads his fingers through Q’s hair, something he doubts he’ll ever tire of doing when he thinks of the shaggy mop of hair that the boy has.  He allows his fingertips to rub the young man’s scalp and he gets another of those delicious little shivers from Q at the fondling. 

He wants to explore that in depth at some point in the future.  He wants to ask questions about how naturally the young man sinks to his knees and opens his mouth, but James doesn’t know if he’ll like the answers.  He wants to ‘top’ Q in every since of the word and he doesn’t think that the new Quartermaster would mind that at all.

With a tug of his fingers he tips Q’s head back and he watches Q’s nimble pink tongue slipping out to slick his lips for the kiss he clearly anticipates receiving.  James, though, pulls a bit harder to arch the young man’s throat further before he goes in to bite at the jugular.  Q’s throat convulses with his swallowing and James idly wonders what would happen if he wrapped his hand around that slender neck to keep the young man from swallowing or breathing until James allowed him those necessities.

 _The things I would do to you,_ he thinks as he eases his grip to allow Q to relax the awkward angle of his head.

Q stays right where James leaves him, though, tipping his head back further still in open invitation.

Seeing that sign that the young man would likely respond favorably to being broken is a heady and dangerous thing for James.  He feels the press of Q’s hard cock against him and wonders briefly what part of this has aroused the boy more.  He doesn’t ask and Q doesn’t tell him as James licks his way back into Q’s mouth while his fingers deftly unfasten the last two buttons on Q’s shirt.

He pushes at the material and Q shifts beneath him to shrug the shirt off, but it doesn’t go as easily as the cardigan.  The cuffs are still buttoned and they catch on Q’s wrists, unable to fit over his hands without being loosened first.

Q pulls back to frown down at the white material bunching at his wrists and James can see him planning to undo those buttons to finish stripping the garment away.  Before he can make any move to do so, though, James runs a hand down Q’s spine until he encounters the pool of fabric in the small of Q’s back.  He shifts closer, pressing their chests together as his fists the material in his hand and twists then twists again until Q’s arms are being pulled back, imprisoned and useless in his shirt. 

Q’s eyes are hot and eager at the restraint and James flashes on an imagine of putting the boy on his knees like this; arms trussed up behind his back as he looks up with his mouth full of James’s cock.  Almost as if sensing his thoughts, Q smiles a smile so lewd and somehow innocent that James doubts very much that he’d ever be able to break the boy before Q breaks _him._

He keeps his hand tangled in the shirt and pushes with his other hand to urge Q back down to the bed as flat as he can lie with his arms behind him.  The position arches his bared torso in an invitation that James cannot resist.

He strokes his hand over it first, thumbing the dusky nubs of Q’s nipples and acquainting himself with a chest without breasts.  The differences were little more than hard plains and angles where he’s used to soft mounds and curves. 

He pinches Q’s nipple and the gasping arch of pleasure is sharper than a woman’s.  He bends to lick the nub and tries suckling it until Q writhes beneath him; giving a guttural groan where James is used to hearing a breathy moan. 

He slides his hand down until he feels the light growth of hair that starts near Q’s belly button and continues down to his groin.  ‘Happy trails’ the ladies call them and James can understand why as they lead to a man’s treasure.  His fingers curl loosely around the shaft of Q’s penis and the man beneath him goes deathly still, not even breathing as he waits to see what James intends to do next.

James gives it a squeeze, finding the girth to be about average, then he strokes up and up.  He lifts his head from Q’s chest and leans up to get his first real look at the boy’s cock to confirm that it’s as long as it feels. 

Q’s expression turns cocky and deservedly so.

“Still want my cock in you arse?”

The expression is perhaps a bit too cocky for Q’s own good.

“Did you even look at my toys, Q?” James lightly pinches the tip of Q’s cock in silent reprimand before he releases the length altogether.  “You’re hardly cock of the walk here.”

Q’s lashes flutter as he takes that in with a frowning glance at the chest on James’s dresser.

“You’ve _really_ had all of those inside you?”

The tone is skeptical; the expression on Q’s face, though, is wondering and fascinated.

“Most more than once,” he confirms with a smirk.

“Even the…” Q’s eyes widen in a way that can only mean that he’d noticed the ‘King’ in James collection.

“Of course,” James hums as he moves to start tugging away the rest of Q’s clothes.  “That was a gift.”

“A. Gift.” Q repeats slowly with something like jealousy tinting his tone.

“Bitter ex,” he explains while tossing Q’s pants and briefs to the floor.  “She thought a massive prick such as I should have it and go fuck myself.  I imagine that she’d be rather disappointed to know that I did just that and enjoyed myself immensely.”

“Immensely?” Q blinks.

“Yes, Q,” James comes back down over the man with a grin.  “ _Im-mense-ly._   Meaning, pun perhaps intended, to a _huge_ degree.”

“Dear God, I do believe I hate you,” Q lies there just staring up at him.  “I honestly hate you right now.”

“I should think I’m in luck then,” James licks a wet trail under Q’s jawline just to be peculiar.  “They say that hate sex is the best sex.”

He moves to kiss Q’s lips, pressing until they part and Q squirms beneath him in an attempt to wrest a hand free of his shirt.

“In answer to your question, Q,” James pulls back to murmur into Q’s ear, “yes.  I want _your cock_ in my arse.”

“My hands may be of use for that,” he gives his shoulders a shake to communicate his desire to have said hands freed.

“I’m sure a clever Quartermaster such as yourself can figure out a way to do it without using your hands,” James challenges even as he unwinds his hand from the shirt.

Q doesn’t rise to the bait as James pulls him up to get at the buttons on the cuff that are holding the garment on.  He unfastens them calmly as Q presses his head forward to clamp his teeth down on a tendon in James’s shoulder.  The muscle flexes at the bite and Q immediately eases up to lick and kiss at the mark before he moves to make another against the side of James’s neck. 

“Bloody vampire,” James chokes out as the bastard’s teeth feel close to breaking the skin of his throat.

“Now you know my secret,” he feels the smirk of Q’s lips as the young man licks at the bite mark he’s made before he opens up and bites right down again.

James laughs.

It’s a rare thing to laugh during sex, but he imagines being with Q would make him run the gamut of emotions and reactions if he allows this to continue. 

He pries the bastard off his neck and does some biting of his own to Q’s jaw and ear and neck before finally nipping those smiling lips. 

The smile fades as Q opens with a sigh and he wraps himself around James to pull him down to the mattress.  They kiss and roll and grind until Q’s leg is hooked over James’s hip and his hand is pressing hard against James’s arse as he groans from somewhere deep in his chest.

“How do you want to do this?”

His eyes are bright and intent as he moves his hand until his fingers catch on the rim of James’s hole so that he can wriggle a fingertip inside the opening. 

James pulls away to roll to his hands and knees in answer to the question.

Q doesn’t immediately move to follow and James gives him a sideways glance to see what the delay is.  He finds Q’s eyes moving over him like a caress, lingering on the curve of his arse with a reverence that would be laughable if it didn’t send a jolt of desire straight to James’s cock. 

Lust begat lust and Q is practically vibrating with it.

James watches as the young man puts a hand to his own cock and strokes.  James resists the urge to drop down and rut against the bedding in tandem with the pace of Q’s stroking.

“Condom,” he orders to snap Q out of his stupor.

Q blinks and looks around for the packets that James had put on the bed earlier.  James doesn’t see the familiar wrappers either, nor the lube, but before he can think to move to his nightstand for more Q dives off the foot of the bed to collect the items that had apparently fallen to the floor. 

He twists his head around to watch over his shoulder as Q stands triumphantly with prize in hand.  He tosses the lube to the bed then determinedly begins to tear open the packet to bring out the rubber.  His motions are quick and methodical as he pinches the tip then places the condom over the head of his penis and begins to unroll it over his length.

James wonders if he’d ever be able to apply a condom to that cock using only his mouth as the porn stars and showy girls did.

Q looks up with his task completed and his gaze again seems to lock on James’s arse.

James resists the urge to wiggle it.

 _Barely_.

“Come here.”

The tone is a mix of what James thinks of a Q’s ‘work voice’ and the huskier quality that he’s taken on here in the bedroom.  It’s a tone that James obeys without question because it is pure sex and promise and damned if he doesn’t want it.

He crawls backward until his feet are off the edge of the bed and he feels the heat of Q’s body against his flesh. 

The angle is too awkward to continue trying to watch, so James turns to face forward as he relies on his other senses to take in the moment. 

Q’s hands go to his hips them skim down his thighs until they curl around and take hold of the muscle above James’s knees.  He applies a slight pressure to urge James’s legs further apart and James’s knees lift and move without thought to spread himself open.

James feels those flingers skimming back up his thighs, lingering over the scars that James seldom even thinks about.  Q seems fascinated with his imperfections, James shivers at the memory of the young man’s mouth lavishing attention on the scars on his chest then he shudders at the feel of Q’s tongue now tracing the backside of that injury. 

James is familiar with the look and shape of the wound near his heart, but he’s never seen the damage from where the bullet had exited his body.  He learns the size and shape of the scar from the lines that Q’s tongue paints on his flesh.

Part of him wants to cry stop when Q molds himself against his back as he presses kisses to the injury and curls his arms around James in something too close to a hug to be anything else.  His hand finds the entrance point of the bullet and he presses the flat of his palm to the scar in a gesture far too sentimental for James’s comfort.

The tension of his body transmits to Q as something more than the strain of holding his position and the man immediately straightens away from him, hands going to the relative safety of James’s hips and lips leaving James’s flesh altogether. 

He damns his body for instantly missing the warmth of that contact and he bites his lip to keep from making a sound to call the man back to embracing him.

Q doesn’t respond to the nonverbal cues for _that_ , though, he instead palms the cheeks of James’s ass and returns the focus to sex and nothing more than sex.

The heels of his hands dig in and push to spread James’s arse further open and there is actually a part of him that blushes at knowing that the young man is _looking_ at him there.  He feels the gaze like a touch trying to breach his hole and makes its way inside his body.

“What a mess you are,” Q murmurs, thumbs slipping over traces of sweat and lube.  “You’ll need another shower after this.”

“I’m sure you’ll wash my back this time,” James smiles at the thought.

“You back isn’t what needs the washing,” Q moves a hand around his waist to scratch at the residue of their previous orgasms. 

“You can change that,” James twists around to briefly lock gazes with the young man. 

Q blinks at first then looks down at his condom covered dick, “You mean?”

“I mean,” James throws him a grin then returns his attention forward.  “That is, if _you mean_ to ever get on with this.”

“Should have known you’d be a pushy bottom,” Q’s voice as wry as his hands move away and James soon hears the telling sounds of the lubricant being uncapped and dispensed.

“Not a bottom, Q, just pushy,” he corrects, just in case they do something like this again.

“Do remember that _you_ said that, not I.”

Any retort that James might have made is forgotten as he feels cool gel being spread along his crack, clever fingers deliberately edging around the pucker of his entrance as Q slicks him up.  There’s a pause then the squirt of more lubricant from the bottle followed by Q’s hand moving to fondle James’s balls before giving James’s cock a squeeze and couple of strokes.

The hand moves away just as James starts to fuck into the grip of Q’s fist and James allows the curse to slip from his lips for that.

“Tease,” he chokes out as his fingers curl into the sheets and his hips give a reflexive thrust for his cock to hump nothing but air.

“It’s only teasing if I don’t come through,” Q admonishes; there is no other adjective for _that_ tone.

Another squirt of lube sounds followed by the click of the cap being replaced on the bottle and then James hears the very familiar slapping sound of a slick hand moving quickly over a hard cock.

“I assure you, Bond,” Q shifts behind him in a way that can only mean one thing and James tries not to tense for the coming thrust, “I have every intention of _coming_ through.”

He puts a steadying hand to James’s hip then places the head of his cock against his arsehole.  He doesn’t push in, just rubs there, slick and hot. 

The feel of latex and lubricant is familiar from all his anal experimentation, but the heat is new.  It’s the heart of a living thing pushing for entrance to his body; the heat of a man about to fuck him. 

If James is to have any heterosexual freak-outs this is the perfectly worst time for it to happen.

His body shakes, muscles tightening as his head drops forward and his fingers dig hard into the bed.  Q’s cock glides upward to slide along the crack of his arse then he shifts it downward to nudge at James’s balls.  He feels that very warm, very male cock brushing against his own, both their erections jumping at the contact and he draws a breath for control before his mouth opens to speak.

“Please,” he says, thrusting backward with his arse in silent demand to have it fucked and filled immediately.

_Pushy bottom, it may very well be._

He feels the head pressing again at his bung.  _Pressing_ now, pushing for entrance.  Demanding that the muscle relax for the flesh to part and allow that cock inside. 

Thumbs and fingers poke and pry to get him open and he groans at the stretch as the flared tip of Q’s shaft penetrates him.  He rocks back, pushing with his hands for the momentum to drive himself on to Q’s cock. 

It goes in slowly because Q’s hands hold him back and control the joining. 

James shudders when he finally feels his arse nestling up against Q’s groin and Q’s balls pushing against his own.  His channel flexes and spasms over the length inside it, adjusting to the size and texture and _heat_ of a real dick inside him. 

Before he fully savors it, Q’s hips roll to pull his cock out only to snap forward again before withdrawing more than a few inches.  He does it again, withdrawing more, pushing back in harder; sliding out faster, shoving back in slower.  He experiments with the depth and speed and angle of his thrusts with a wild enthusiasm that makes James suddenly sure that Q has never fucked another man’s arse before.

Somehow that thought is all that he needs; that _knowledge_. 

With a shout that even he doesn’t recognize, James drops down to press his forehead into the bed to hold himself up as he moves his hands to grab his cock.  He fucks into his own fists with a groan to rival the noise that Q makes as the thrusting causes him to slam back _onto_ Q’s cock at the same time. 

Their bodies slap together; a dirty, sticky sound that he’ll keep in mind to jack off to when thought of in the future.  His thighs quiver from the impact of Q’s against them, his arse shudders and stings from the smack of Q’s abdomen as he drives in harder and faster. 

He keens out his pleasure as Q’s cock drags over the knot of his prostate gland and he holds his cock tightly as it begins to spurt in release.  He feels drops hitting his stomach to add to the mess they’ve made together and he tries to aim to keep all the come going in that direction because something in him quakes at thoughts like “them,” “together” and “first.”

“Coming,” Q gasps out, his thrusts faltering at the constriction of James’s arsehole in climax.

“Do it,” James growls, muffled by the bedding he’s bitten into at some point without even realizing it.

Q’s cock abruptly pulls out, making James choke out a cry at the harsh withdraw and sudden gaping emptiness inside him.  He hears the snap of a condom being torn off then the rough friction of a hand jacking a cock and Q is moaning and panting behind him as his body continues to rock against James until he gives a cry and goes still.

A hand grips James’s hip hard enough to leave bruises then he feels the hot lash of come on his arse and he knows that _that_ will leave more of a mark that the fingerprints pressed into his skin.  His balls draw up tighter to force out the very last of his come as he realizes that Q’s is coming all over his flesh.  He’s sticky now front and back with his Quartermaster’s ejaculate and he doesn’t want to wash it away. 

In the fevered thoughts of his orgasm he thinks that he’d like to wallow in it; wear it on his skin at the office and laugh inside when people ask about his new cologne or think about how he got the spunk on him whenever he’s dealing with Q in a professional capacity. 

James doesn’t admit then that he’s well and truly fucked in more ways than he had planned.

He’s rather forced to admit that, though, when Q’s body collapses against his back and James moves as quickly as his sated body allows to turn and catch the young man to him so that they can fall together to the bed.

Their limbs twine together; holding tightly as they come down from their highs.  Q puts his sweating forehead to James’s chest, panting to regain his composure while James buries his face in Q’s hair, breathing deep and knowing he’ll likely never regain _his_ composure.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For giggles and thrills, [THIS is the 'King'](http://www.adameve.com/adult-sex-toys/dildo-sex-toys/giant-dildos/sp-king-dong-dildo-8531.aspx) in James's toy chest. I don't really imagine he would have taken it _all_ but I am sure that he tried and thoroughly enjoyed the effort. Maybe with Q's help he can conquer it all....


End file.
